


A Little Wicked

by nonbinaryspock



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: I'll probably update the tags as I go, M/M, Witch AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-16 20:44:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 19,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13644096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinaryspock/pseuds/nonbinaryspock
Summary: Jonathan hates to say he misses Georgia, but… Well. He misses Georgia. Southern magic is something he’ll always carry with him. Something that weighs on his soul. It's a very specific brand of magic. Not like the magic in Gotham.He’s not cut out to be a city witch.





	1. Chapter 1

Twelve forty-three AM. Jonathan can’t sleep. Again. No matter how many pills and potions he tries, nothing seems to work. He rubs his eyes, reaching to turn on the lamp on his bedside table. Outside he can hear cars going by. Sirens in the distance. Gotham is such a loud city. There’s always something… happening. It’s not like what he’s used to.

He hates to say he misses Georgia, but… Well. He misses Georgia. Southern magic is something he’ll always carry with him. Something that weighs on his soul. It’s not like the magic here. He’s not cut out to be a city witch.

Jonathan gets out of bed, going over to the closet and opening it. He removes a cardboard box from the top shelf, opening it up and rummaging through it. A few vials of water—creek, ocean, bay, swamp. A mason jar full of dirt, which he’s never once had a use for. Some candles. Herbal cigarettes—they’re _technically_ magic.

Finally, his touch settles on the thing he was looking for. He takes a small, rectangular package out of the box. Removes an item wrapped in plastic. A Moon Pie.

Magic’s all well and good, but nothing beats good comfort food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short little chapter to start things off


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you sell love potions?”

Jonathan points at the sign behind him, not looking up from the order form he’s filling out. The sign reads: _For legal reasons, we do not offer love inducing spells/potions/etc._

“What do you mean legal reasons?” the customer asks, clearly annoyed at the rule.

“We don't want to be considered liable for any nonconsensual acts occurring because of or while under the influence of a love potion,” Jonathan recites flatly. He gets tired of answering the same question every other day. It’s like no one has any ambitions that don’t involve being loved these days. “There are a variety of crystals, herbs, essential oils, and other materials that can be used to bring love into your life on a broader scale, but we do not sell any spells that induce feelings of love in others.”

The customer grumbles something about it being a stupid policy, but retreats from the counter nonetheless. The person behind them in line steps up, depositing a few items on the counter.

“Just these today?” Jonathan asks, ringing up the items. A notebook, some crystals, a tarot guidebook, and a white candle.

“Yeah,” she says.

“Your total is fifteen ninety-five. Do you need a bag?”

“Yes please.” She hands over a twenty dollar bill.

He takes a paper bag out from beneath the counter, carefully placing her purchases inside. He counts her change. “You’re all set,” he says politely, handing her the bag and the money.

“Thank you!” she says. She takes the bag, leaving the store.

Someone taps Jonathan on the shoulder. He turns in his chair. “What?”

“We got an order for a couple spells,” Rebecca says, passing him a slip of paper with the order details. “Can you handle those?”

He scans the paper. Self love spell, something to help heal scarring. Seems easy enough. “Sure,” he says. “Can you take over here?”

She nods, pulling her bushy hair into a ponytail. “Did you finish writing up the supplies order?”

“Yeah, just need a signature.”

“I can take care of that.”

“Thanks.” He gets up, allowing Rebecca to take his seat.

He goes into the back, reviewing the order again. Victor is sitting at a worktable, assembling a spell jar. He glances up, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You look awful,” he says, his accent creeping faintly into his soft voice. “Been sleeping poorly?”

“What else is new?” he grumbles. He opens a drawer, removing two small, glass bottles. “I was up at one in the morning today.”

“I could make you something to help you sleep,” he offers.

“Damn near every witch in the city has made me something. My medicine cabinet is full of failed attempts to cure my insomnia.” He collects a few sprigs of rosemary and some rose petals, setting them on his work station.

“Perhaps someone has put a curse on you to keep you awake.”

“God, I hope not. That’d be a pain in the ass.” The spell calls for rainwater, but they only have saltwater. Oh well. It’ll have to do. “How’s Nora?”

Victor smiles slightly, sealing the jar with a few drops of melted wax. “Delightful as ever. She wants to meet you, you know. She’s never met anyone else who’s… magically inclined.”

“I would’ve met her already if you ever brought her around the shop.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “She wants to meet you properly. Dinner, perhaps?”

“Yeah. Perhaps.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Where does it hurt?”

Rebecca gestures vaguely toward her left leg. “Sort of like… between my thigh and my ankle.”

“So… The whole thing.”

“Pretty much.”

Jonathan holds his hand about an inch above her skin, moving it slowly along the length of her leg. He senses a large, tense spot just below her knee. The problem area. “This might feel a bit weird,” he says, glancing up at her.

“Weird how?”

He shrugs. “People always say it feels weird. Hold still.” He focuses on  the spot, directing a small burst of energy towards it.

Rebecca starts, her leg twitching involuntarily. “What the fuck?”

“I told you it was going to feel weird.”

“No, it’s not that, it’s—That’s incredible.”

“What?”

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she marvels, bending and straightening her leg in awe.

“Good. That’s what it’s supposed to do.” He picks up his notebook. Flips through it. “It won’t last, unfortunately, but with repeated treatment I think it should increase your mobility a bit. You’ll be able to go longer distances without the cane.” He finds the page he was looking for. Muscle pain reliever. “I can give you something to apply topically for temporary pain relief, and a touch up once a month or so should do the trick.”

“Thanks Jonathan. I owe you one.” She stands up, collecting her jacket and cane. “You know, you should do this professionally. You could probably make a lot of money.”

“I think that’s illegal.”

“If you get arrested for it I’ll defend you in court.”

“Gee, thanks. Maybe you should actually pass the LSAT before you start promising legal services to people,” he says, tucking his notebook back in its drawer.

“ _Everyone_ fails the first time.”

“Whatever makes you feel better about yourself.”


	4. Chapter 4

It’s a slow day in the shop. Thursdays are always slow. Jonathan flips through a draft of his thesis. It’s awful. The first three pages are complete nonsense, but if he gets rid of them then he won’t meet the page requirement. He sighs. Perhaps he should just plagiarize the whole thing and be done with it. It’d be a hell of a lot easier than somehow coming up with a good paper by the end of the year.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up an order?”

Jonathan looks up, sliding his paper out of view. Despite his better judgment, he can’t help but stare at the person standing before him. It sounds like an exaggeration to say that he’s the most perfect person Jonathan has ever seen, but… he sort of is. Clear skin, straight nose, not a single hair out of place. It’s a little unsettling.

“Do I have something on my face?” the boy asks, flashing a grin that reveals a row of perfectly straight teeth.

“Sorry,” Jonathan says quickly, directing his attention to the computer. He pulls up the log they keep of all the orders. “Name?”

“Edward Nygma. N-Y-G-M-A.”

He scans the screen. “Right… self love spell bottle and something for scarring.” He finds it odd that someone so unequivocally flawless needs a self love spell, but that’s none of his business. “They’re in the back. I’ll just… go get them.”

He gets up, going into the back room. He retrieves the two items and returns to the counter. “So, the bottle will induce and/or augment feelings of self love and confidence as long as you keep it near you. This,” he says, indicating the salve, “should help with scarring. I know it looks like mud, but it’s very effective. Just apply it to the affected area once or twice a week, depending on the severity of the injury, and you should start to see results in about three weeks. And your total is twenty-one fifty.”

Edward nods, taking a credit card out of his pocket and depositing it on the counter. “My friend says you guys do really good spellwork over here. This is, like, her go-to spot for all things magical.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” He toys with the edge of his sleeve. “She says the healing spells are some of the best she’s ever seen. Which is the reason I came here to get this,” he says, gesturing to the salve. “Do you know who made it?”

“I did. I usually handle all the healing related orders.”

“Really?” he says, tilting his head to the side. The corner of his mouth curves upward in a small smile. “Well, I’ve heard good things. I look forward to seeing if they’re actually true.”

“I hope my work lives up to your expectations,” he says dryly. “Do you want a bag?”

“No, thanks.” Edward takes his purchases, tucking them into his jacket pocket. “Have a good one,” he says, offering a slight wave as he turns to leave.

“Thanks. You too.” Jonathan watches him go. That was… interesting, to say the least.


	5. Chapter 5

One fifteen AM. Jonathan’s eyes strain against the brightness of his computer screen. One perk of not being able to sleep is that he has a lot of extra time to get work done. And his thesis isn’t going to rewrite itself. He sighs. Rubs his eyes. It’s not too late to drop out of grad school.

His phone buzzes on the bedside table. He glances at it. Text from Rebecca. _Go to sleep._

He rolls his eyes, picking up the phone and typing out a quick reply. _I could say the same to you._

_One night won’t kill me. I’m not the one w/ chronic insomnia._

She _loves_ to pull the ‘chronic insomnia’ card. He decides not to dignify the accusation with a response.

After a few moments she starts typing again. _Cute guy at the store was asking abt u today._

Odd. He can’t remember the last time a guy so much as gave him the time of day without some heavy-duty luck inducing magic. _Oh?_

_Flawless skin, red hair, looks like he came out of some Eurotrash fashion magazine?_

Oh. That’s interesting. He’s… not sure how he feels about that. _What’d he want?_

_Wanted to thank u for the spells._

Well. That was sort of anticlimactic. Though, he supposes it says something that the boy—Ed something?—went out of his way to see him. He’s not sure _what_ it says, but it must say something. _It’s weird how perfect he looks, right? Like he doesn’t look like a real person._

_Good genes I guess. Wish that were me. So, u gonna hit it or what?_

Jonathan frowns. The downside to having a younger friend is sometimes he has no idea what she’s talking about. But perhaps he’s just out of touch. _Hit what?_

_That guy. He’s def interested. U should get in there._

How can she tell he’s interested? Does Jonathan even _want_ him to be interested? Christ, this is the last thing he needs right now. _I don’t think he’s my type_.  

_You don’t have a type._

_Yes I do,_ he types. _My type is average. That guy isn’t average._

_That’s rlly sad. You never put yourself out there. Be ambitious for once._

The last time he ‘put himself out there’ he ended up with a broken rib and a minor concussion. He’s learned his lesson since then. _Ambition never got me anywhere._

_Care to elaborate?_

_No. I’m going to bed. Goodnight._ He locks his phone, dropping it onto the mattress. He sighs, turning his attention to his computer screen. Between school and work and generally just trying to be a functional person, Jonathan doesn’t really have time for boys. Or girls. Or people at all. He should just focus on his thesis.

His phone buzzes. Against his better judgment, he checks it.

_Ur a bad liar._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy valentines day i literally want to die but have some buds texting


	6. Chapter 6

“Can you help me with something?”

Jonathan looks up from the display he’s been arranging and rearranging for the past fifteen minutes. It’s that boy again. Edward. He looks… different today. Perhaps his hair is a little less red or his eyes are a little less bright. It’s hard to place.

Jonathan sets down the pendulum in his hand. “What do you need?” he asks carefully.

“A set of runes.”

He indicates the table that houses all the runes. “Those are the display sets. Pick one you like, I’ll go grab one from the back for you.”

“That’s the thing,” he says. “I’m not sure how to pick one.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve never worked with runes before. I’m not sure what I should look for. What makes a good set.” He shifts his weight to his heels. “I was hoping you might have some recommendations,” he says, smiling slightly.

“Recommendations. Okay…” He goes over to the table, surveying the different sets. “So… I think the first thing you should do is decide what materials you like to work with. If you want, you can get a set made from something that corresponds to your craft. So, if you do a lot of animal work, you could get a set made of animal bones or antlers or something.” He clears his throat awkwardly, shuffling through the list of talking points he had to memorize for this job. “It doesn’t have to be that meaningful, though, you can pick a material just because you think it’s pretty.”

“Aesthetics are important,” Edward says, picking up a flat, wooden rune and weighing it in his palm. “Do you have anything that corresponds with intuition or anything like that?”

“Right now we have two sets of quartz runes,” he says, indicating the sets in question. One is made out of tumbled quartz with gold engravings. The other is made out of quartz points with black engravings. “Amethyst also works for that, but unfortunately we’re out of stock right now.”

“Is there any significance to the shape?”

“Not really, unless you read reverse meanings. The round ones aren’t as good for that because they don’t often land upside down like the ones with flat sides.”

“I see.” He smoothes his finger over one of the small, round stones. “I think I’ll take these,” he says.

Jonathan nods, heading toward the back. “I’ll go grab those for you.”

When he returns, he sets the bag of runes on the counter, along with a small white pamphlet. “That’s just a little guidebook. If you want something more in depth we sell those too.”

Edward nods, digging his wallet out of his pocket. “Thanks. You’ve been really helpful today.”

“No problem.” He takes the credit card being offered to him. “So,” he begins, doing his best to sound casual. “I heard you were looking for me the other day.”

“Oh.” Jonathan swears he can see his cheeks flush. “I was… in the area. Thought I’d stop by and say thanks for the salve and the spell.”

He nods, swiping the card and passing it back. He doesn’t want to flatter himself, but Jonathan gets the feeling that Edward isn’t being entirely truthful. He could compel Edward to give him a more honest answer, but that’s an ethical can of worms. And it’s rude.

“The salve works _wonders_ ,” he continues. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s a family recipe,” Jonathan says. “I use red clay, but you can’t really find it around here. It’s a shame, it’s great for scars and blemishes and things like that.”

“Where do you get it?”

“Well, you can buy it online, but I collected as much as I could before I left home. I think it’s better if you can get it from the source.”

Edward tilts his head slightly, his interest seemingly piqued. “Where are you from?” he asks.

“…Georgia.” He braces himself for the slew of annoying questions he hears all the time—Why doesn’t he have an accent? Did he live on a farm? What’s the difference between sweet tea and iced tea?

“You don’t sound like you’re from Georgia.”

There it is. “Years of practice.”

He laughs. Jonathan wasn’t aware that he had said something funny. “I take it you’re not a fan of your hometown.”

“Not especially.”

“Yeah. I get that.” He takes the runes, tucking the guidebook into his pocket. “Thanks for all your help,” he says.

“Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the boys are BACK


	7. Chapter 7

Edward finds his way back into the shop with some regularity after that. He hangs around by the counter, managing to engage Jonathan in something resembling banter. Sometimes it seems like he’s just making excuses to be there. Jonathan doesn’t think he actually needs the fifteen rose quartz stones he’s bought in the last two months. Rebecca thinks it’s hilarious. Jonathan thinks it’s horrifyingly complicated. Why can’t people just be straightforward?

“I can’t tell if he’s trying to flirt with me or if he’s just… like that.” Jonathan takes a sip of his coffee, staring blankly over the edge of his fire escape. “He talks a lot. But I don’t know if that means anything. He might just like to talk.” He sighs. Sets his mug down, casting a glance at the crow sitting beside him. “I don’t suppose you have any advice.”

The bird stares up at him, its shiny black eyes revealing no hint of emotion. Do animals have emotions? Probably not. It must be nice. He takes a few pieces of shredded cheese out of the bag in his lap, offering them to the crow. It eagerly pecks at the cheese, squawking its gratitude.

“I bet birds don’t have to deal with shit like this,” he grumbles, looking out at the cityscape. “Birds get to live such nice, simple lives. No boys bothering you at work. Being loud and confusing. No grad school. No insomnia.” He sighs again, looking back to the crow. “I bet _you_ don’t have trauma or anything.”

The bird, as is to be expected, says nothing.

“No, you don’t,” Jonathan says, answering for the bird. “Because you’re a bird. And birds don’t have problems.”

The bird eats some more cheese.

“Yeah. Must be nice.” He takes a handful of cheese out of the bag, dropping it into his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a guy eating cheese with a bird


	8. Chapter 8

“Well, your argument is good.”

“The paper only gets worse from there.” Jonathan takes a long drag on his cigarette, blowing a ring of smoke out of his mouth. “I call on the spirits of water, earth, fire, and air,” he mumbles.

Victor wrinkles his nose. “I would prefer if you didn’t do that.”

“I’m casting a circle.”

“That’s… not how you do that,” he says, frowning slightly. “And it smells strange.”

“It’s got wormwood and blue lotus petals in it.” He exhales a mouthful of smoke. Taps a bit of ash off the end of the cigarette. “To enhance psychic abilities.”

“Is that safe?”

“Probably.”

Victor shakes his head. “ _Gode Gud,_ ” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to Jonathan’s laptop.

“Look, your job is to worry about my paper, not my lungs.” He stubs out the cigarette, gathering his materials around himself. He lights a candle, setting it beside a small bowl of water. He dumps a jar of ashes—bay leaves, hibiscus leaves, and nutmeg—into the water. Stirs clockwise, staring at the flame’s reflection in the now murky water.

“What are you doing?”

“Scrying.” He refocuses. Wills himself to see something, anything at all.

“You’re terrible at scrying,” Victor says.

“I know that. You’re not helping.”

Victor is quiet for a few minutes. He seems to have returned to editing Jonathan’s thesis. Then, after a while he asks, “What are you hoping to see?”

Jonathan sighs, annoyed at being interrupted again. “I’m just trying to figure something out. Someone’s intentions. Are you done looking at my paper?”

“I have one more page. Is this about that boy?”

“No. Mind your own business.”

“You know,” he begins, “if you just ask him, you don’t have to worry about candles and ashes and _ildelugtende_ cigarettes.”

“I just said it wasn’t about him.”

“I wouldn’t have met my Nora if I just sat around looking at bowls of water all day,” he says knowingly.

“ _Shh!_ I’m trying to focus.”

He shrugs, adjusting his glasses. “Just offering my advice.”

Jonathan gives an exasperated groan, blowing out the candle. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I wasn’t getting anywhere one way or the other.”

“Perhaps you should try a different method. I recall you have a talent for compulsion.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t want to force him to tell me anything.”

“So we’re admitting that this is about that boy?”

“I admit nothing.”

Victor chuckles softly, setting the computer aside. “You like this boy, no?”

“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”

“It doesn’t seem very complicated.” Victor leans back on Jonathan’s bed. “He comes by the store all the time. To flirt with you.”

“I don’t think he’s flirting. I think that’s just how he is.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s not how anyone is.”

“You don’t know that.”

“ _Du ved,_ it seems to me that everything is perfectly simple and _you’re_ the one making it complicated,” he says.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jonathan mutters.

“A beautiful young man waltzes into your path and shows _clear_ interest in you, and all you can do is complain.” He sits up, taking his glasses off. “He’s _too_ perfect,” he mocks, putting on his best American accent. “I can’t figure out what his intentions are, he buys too many crystals, everything is so _complicated_ for some reason.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I don’t sound like that.”

“That’s exactly what you sound like.”

“Well, I’m not _good_ at this, Victor,” he snaps. “I never have been.”

“And I’m trying to teach you how to _become_ good at it, but you won’t listen to any of my advice.”

“Your advice sucks,” he grumbles.

“Then explain why _I’m_ in a happy relationship and you’re sitting here pining over a boy and looking at candles,” Victor retorts.

“We can’t all get married to our college sweethearts.”

“We’re not married yet.”

“ _Yet_.”


	9. Chapter 9

“You look awful.”

“How kind of you to say,” Jonathan mutters, pouring vinegar into a jar. “Who let you back here?”

“Your friend,” Edward says. He takes a seat at Rebecca’s worktable. “Blond, Scandinavian, cute glasses?”

Victor. So he’s trying to play matchmaker now. “As of this moment we’re not friends anymore.”

He clicks his tongue, leaning back in his seat. “And I thought you _liked_ seeing me around.”

“Yes, I’m very fond of people sneaking into my workspace and telling me I look awful,” he says sarcastically, adding lime juice and hot sauce to the vinegar. “Are you here for a reason?”

“I like talking to you.”

“Well, I’m working.”

“You’re always working when I talk to you.”

“Because you come _to_ _my job_ to talk to me.” He adds black pepper and cayenne pepper into the mixture.

“Would you prefer if we—” Edward cuts himself off. Clears his throat. “It’s not like I’m able to talk to you outside of your job.”

Jonathan doesn’t know what to say to that. He gets the sense that he’s somehow being baited into something but he’s not sure what it is or why.

Edward quickly changes the subject. “What are you working on?”

“Banishing spell.” He screws the lid onto the jar, shaking it vigorously.

“If this is your way of telling me to leave, it’s not going to work,” he says, picking some dirt out from beneath his nails. “I’m too stubborn for even the most powerful banishing spell.”

“If I was going to tell you to leave I would’ve done it by now in plain, direct terms.” Because Jonathan knows how to be direct. Unlike some people.

“So, what I’m hearing is that I can stay.”

“I can’t exactly force you to leave.” Well. He could, but he won’t.

“I’m sure you could if you wanted to. But you don’t want to.” Edward grins, crossing his legs. “And that’s what matters.”

“If you say so.” Jonathan puts a label on the jar, tucking it away in a cabinet. He skims the list of orders. A glamour. That should be simple enough. He takes another jar out of the supply cupboard, setting it on his table. He gathers candles, oils, water, and some rose petals.

“So…” Edward says carefully, tapping his fingers on his knee. “Your friend tells me you’re having boy troubles.”

Oh God. If he survives this encounter, Jonathan’s going to have to remember to kill Victor. He says nothing. Pours water into the jar.

“I could read your tarot cards,” Edward offers. “See if he likes you.”

“I’m alright.” He wishes he could just sink through the floor and escape this conversation.

“It’s no trouble.” He’s already rummaging through his bag for the deck of cards. “It’s good practice for me, I almost never get to read for other people. And it gets kind of boring after the twentieth tarot reading where your deck tells you that you’re anxious and your life is falling apart.”

“Really, it’s—”

Edward produces the deck triumphantly, setting it down on the table. The cards are housed in a small, wooden box. It has designs and sigils burned into it, along with a small silver clasp to keep it shut. It’s surprisingly simple.

He opens the box. The inside is lined with silk… or something like silk. Jonathan can’t really tell. The cards themselves are black, illustrated mostly in white with gold accents and borders. He takes them out of the box, shuffling them expertly. “Do you do divination at all?” he asks.

Jonathan shrugs. “I do a bit of tarot. I’m not really good at anything else.”

Edward nods, continuing to shuffle. “Tarot’s easiest for me too. It’s the most straightforward in my opinion, once you get the hang of it.”

“Mm.”

He draws three cards. Places them face up on the table. He points to the first card. “Two of cups. That’s good, looks like the beginning of a new relationship. Bodes well for this mystery man in your life.”

“Please don’t say ‘mystery man’.”

“Ace of cups reversed,” he continues, ignoring Jonathan. “Now, that’s not so good. You’re emotionally unavailable. You have potential, but you’re shutting down all your feelings and that’s not good for anyone involved.” He raises an eyebrow, looking more closely at the cards. “It’s also interesting that these are both in the suit of cups. Seems like you’ve got a lot of emotional shit in general. Is that true?”

“Are you trying to trick me into talking about myself?” He goes back to working on the glamour. Adds rose oil to the jar.

“It’s not really a trick if I just ask.” Edward points to the last card. “The Hermit, reversed. It looks like you’re closing yourself off to people because you’re afraid of vulnerability and betrayal. It’s fine to value privacy and solitude, but there’s a way to do it that’s healthy and doesn’t shut out the important people in your life.” He collects the cards, reintegrating them into the deck. “Or the cute boys that are consistently trying to hit on you.”

“Certainly don’t know anyone like that,” Jonathan says flatly.

“No, certainly not. But just in case some such person happens to show up, perhaps at your workplace…” He trails off, putting the tarot cards back into his bag. “It doesn’t hurt to give it a shot.”

He’s not sure he believes that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eddie is feeling BOLD today


	10. Chapter 10

Jonathan unfolds a map, laying it out on the floor. He sets up four candles—one at each of the cardinal directions. He lights them, going clockwise around the map. Once each candle has been lit, he takes a pendulum out of his pocket. He holds it loosely above the map, letting it swing in small circles.

“Can I see where my grandmother is again?” he asks.

The pendulum begins to swing in wider circles, covering the area of the map. After a while, it begins to slow, finally coming to rest above one particular spot. Georgia. Jonathan breathes a sigh of relief. Right where he left her.

Granted, the chances of Granny coming back from the dead are slim, but stranger things have happened. If anyone could bring themselves back to life, it would be her.

He raises the pendulum again. “Can you show me where my father is?” he asks softly.

The pendulum does nothing.

He sort of expected that. “What about my mother?” he tries.

The pendulum begins to swing. Jonathan waits with bated breath, watching intently to see where it will stop.

But it doesn’t stop. It just… keeps swinging. It makes wider and wider circles each time, as if confused about where to look. He’s never seen it do that before. He puts the pendulum down.

Well, that was utterly disappointing.

He blows out the candles, gathering them and the map and dumping them back into their designated box. He shoves the box under his bed, getting up from the floor.

He goes into the kitchen. Opens the refrigerator. He’s got… leftover biscuits. And about six different kinds of cheese. Is cheese on a biscuit a legitimate meal? No, he should try and eat real food. He rummages through the fridge, looking for something resembling nourishment. He finds nothing. He’s not surprised, just disappointed.

Well, he doesn’t feel like cooking. And he doesn’t feel like starving. So. Cheese biscuits it is.

The whole night was a waste.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why does jonathan have so many kinds of cheese you ask? for the birds.


	11. Chapter 11

“Hello again.”

“Hi.”

Edward places a cup of coffee on Jonathan’s worktable, dumping a handful of creamers and sugar packets beside it. “Brought you this,” he says. “I wasn’t sure how you like your coffee, so I just… brought some accoutrements.”

“No cream, four sugars. Maybe five, depending on how terrible I feel.” He tears open five sugar packets, pouring them into the coffee.

He frowns disapprovingly. “That’s a lot of sugar.”

“It’s not that much.”

“I only use three.”

“Well aren’t you the pinnacle of physical health.” Jonathan crosses out a paragraph in his thesis. He’s written and rewritten that paragraph dozens of times, but at this point it seems more useful to just get rid of it entirely. Didn’t make any sense anyway.

“Slow day?” Edward asks.

“Thursdays are always slow.” He takes a sip of the coffee. Crosses out a sentence in the next paragraph.

“Why?”

“Don’t know.”

Edward sits quietly for a while. Watches Jonathan proofread his paper. He sighs softly. “Tell me what I have to do,” he says finally, looking down at his lap.

“What are you talking about?”

“Tell me what I need to do to get you to pay attention to me,” he mumbles.

“I am paying attention to you.”

“No. You’re not.” He sighs again, rubbing his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. “I can’t tell if you’re straight or oblivious or just not interested, but you haven’t even _acknowledged_ that I’ve been flirting with you for two months. Do you know how awful that is for me?” He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “At least do me the courtesy of rejecting me.”

“Well, how am I supposed to know you’re flirting with me if you don’t _say_ so?” Jonathan mutters, his ears burning.

“It’s not flirting if I just _say_ it.” He scoffs derisively. “God, you’re hopeless.”

“Is _this_ you flirting with me too?”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever,” he grumbles.

Jonathan grits his teeth, setting down his essay. “What do you want from me?” he asks, raising his voice. “I let you come here and talk for hours, I cast spells for you, I sit around and agonize over how fucking gorgeous you are—I think I devote more than enough time and energy and _attention_ to you!” he snaps.

Rebecca pokes her head into the back room. “Hey, you need to tone it down back here,” she says. “Everyone can hear you yelling.”

“I’m _NOT YELLING!_ ”

“Well, whatever you call that, stop it.” She points accusatorily at Edward. “Keep him in check,” she instructs.

“Oh believe me, I’m trying.”

She exits, closing the door behind her. Jonathan and Edward are left to sit in tense silence. Jonathan can feel his heart pounding in his throat.

He should apologize.

He’s not going to apologize. He’s still mad.

Why is he mad? The whole thing is stupid and it’s all his fault for being so—

Edward is the one to break the silence. Typical. “So,” he says carefully. “You think I’m gorgeous?”

Oh. Oops. “Did I say that?”

“Yes. Very loudly.”

“Oh.” He clears his throat nervously. “Well. Uh. I mean, you have a… very symmetrical face.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, smiling slightly. “I do put a lot of energy into maintaining these dazzling good looks.”

“I can imagine.” Jonathan takes a long sip of his coffee. “I apologize for yelling,” he says slowly.

“So formal,” he remarks, grinning. “You sound like a robot.”

“Fuck off, I’m trying to be nice.”

Edward laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “If you _really_ wanted to be nice, you could offer to take me out this weekend,” he suggests coyly.

“Take you out on a date or take you out like an assassin?” Jonathan cringes at himself. That wasn’t funny.

“Let’s start with a date, and then I’ll see how I feel. How does dinner sound? Saturday at six?”

“Sounds fine.”

“Good. I know a place, you’ll love it.” He takes Jonathan’s pen, writing the name of a restaurant in the margin of his paper—even his _handwriting_ is good. He adds a string of numbers below it, setting the pen down. “That’s my number. Use it,” he instructs.

“Okay.” He stares at the number in a state of slight bewilderment. He’s going on a date. With Edward. Perfect, persistent Edward. He doesn’t quite understand how he managed to pull that off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> smooth


	12. Chapter 12

Jonathan combs his hair for the third time, peering at himself in the mirror. No matter how hard he tries, there’s always that one spot that sticks up in the back. He sighs, setting the comb down on the edge of the sink. Maybe he could cover it with a hat? If only he owned a hat.

His phone buzzes. Rebecca. He answers the call, putting the phone on speaker. “Hello?”

“Can you come over and study with me? I got this huge LSAT prep book and I don’t get any of it.”

“I can’t. Busy.”

She scoffs. “You’re never busy.”

“Well, I’m busy tonight. I can come over tomorrow.” He takes the phone, moving out of the bathroom. He opens his closet. Should he wear a sweater or a jacket? Which one says ‘emotionally available person with no trauma’? He decides to go with the sweater.

“What are you doing tonight?”

“I… have a date,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“I’m going out. On a date.”

“ _A date?_ ”

“Do you want to say that a little louder? I think there are some people in Antarctica who didn’t quite hear you,” he grumbles, pulling a grey sweater over his head.

“You haven’t been on a date in _ages_. Not since—”

He scowls. He doesn’t want to talk about that. “I’m well aware.”

“Are you going out with that guy from the store?”

“Yes.”

“And why am I _just now_ hearing about this?”

“Because I was hoping to avoid this conversation.” He surveys his appearance. He looks like a well adjusted person. That’s good. Well adjusted is good. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m heading out soon. Do you want me to stop by tomorrow and help you study or not?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. I’ll see you then. Bye.”

“Bye! Good luck.”

He hangs up. Thank God that’s over. He tucks his phone back into his pocket, giving himself one last glance in the mirror. He looks fine. It’ll be fine. Maybe he should have a drink before he leaves. No, he’s not going to do that, why would he do that? It’s fine. Everything will be fine. He just needs to keep from having a complete breakdown and everything will be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will jonathan have a complete breakdown on the date???? vote now on your phones!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date Night pt. 1

“You’re early.”

“So are you. Earlier than me.” Jonathan sits down across from Edward.

Edward shrugs, tearing a breadstick into pieces. “I’m always early. I’m far too neurotic to ever be late for anything. What’s your excuse?”

“Traffic was light.” He turns his focus to the menu sitting in front of him. It occurs to him that he does not like to eat in front of people. He did not think this through. He studies the menu intently.

“So. How’d you get into witch stuff?”

Oh God, he just got there and they’re already at the ‘awkward small talk to fill silence’ stage. “It runs in my family. My mom was a witch. And my great grandmother, I think.” What do regular people eat? Salads? He really doesn’t want to order a salad.

“Oh really?” He pops a piece of the breadstick into his mouth. “I don’t think anyone in my family does witchcraft, or whatever you want to call it. I mean, I have an aunt who’s into Kabbalah, but it’s not really the same, y’know?”

“Right.” He doesn’t know what Kabbalah is.

“Did your mom teach you any spells?” he asks.

“Um.” Is a first date a good time to tell a tragic story about both of his parents abandoning him? “I didn’t… grow up with my mom.”

“Oh, did you live with your dad?”

“…No.” Christ. Why can’t he ever have a normal conversation?

Before Edward can ask another question, their waiter appears. “Are you ready to order or do you need a little more time?” he asks brightly, holding a small notepad.

Edward casts a glance toward Jonathan. “Do you need more time?”

“I’m good.” He frantically searches the menu for something to order.

“Okay.” He rattles off some long, complex order that sounds like it must be at least five dishes total. Figures.

The waiter nods, quickly scrawling the order in his notepad. He turns expectantly towards Jonathan.

“Um,” Jonathan says, still staring at the menu. “Can I get… Um…” Potatoes. He likes potatoes. “Gnocchi,” he blurts out. “I’ll have… that.” Fuck. It’s like he completely forgot how to be a person for a few moments. Cool.

He can see Edward stifling laughter as the waiter disappears from view. “You’re tragic,” he says, covering his mouth with his hand.

“I know.”

He grins, leaning forward and resting his chin in his palm. “You’re so nervous, it’s adorable.”

“I’m less nervous, more… vexed by paranoia.”

“You’re _absolutely_ nervous. And why wouldn’t you be? I’m wildly out of your league.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his water. “You really know how to make a guy feel special.”

“Hey, you should be proud that you were able to catch the fancy of someone as incredible as me,” he says lightly. “I’m a luxury few can afford.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that.”

Edward laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “That’s probably for the best.”


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Date Night pt. 2

“…And I had finished all my required credits so I talked to my counselor about graduating early, but she made up some bullshit reason why I couldn’t do that—she was trying to tell me I had to take another semester of an elective even though I had already completed my elective requirement—and I thought, ‘Fuck that’, and I dropped out.” Edward scoops the last remnants of his meal onto his fork. “The school system is fucked up and I’m not here for it.”

“I think I’m the opposite,” Jonathan says, folding and refolding his napkin. “School was the only thing I ever felt good at so I just… keep doing school.” It sounds a lot sadder than he meant it to. He smoothes the wrinkles out of the fabric. “I’ve been in school for almost nineteen years,” he remarks.

Edward shakes his head slowly. “That’s insane.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Do you really only think you’re good at school?”

He shrugs. “School and witch shit. I mean, it’s sort of… all I did growing up. I went to school, I went to church, I practiced my craft. Didn’t really have time to get good at other things.”

Edward cocks an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as the churchgoing type.”

“I’m not. I used to have to go when I was growing up, though. You think the school system is fucked up, try going to any church in the deep South.” He leans back in his seat. “I’ve never wished I was dead more than I did when I was in church.” Hm. Maybe that’s too dark.

Edward nods, seemingly unfazed. “I get that. As a gay Jew, church isn’t exactly my friend.”

“Right.” Jonathan didn’t know he was Jewish. That’s kind of nice. He doesn’t have to worry about triggering religious symbolism.

Edward checks his watch. His face falls. “Oh. It’s getting sort of late.”

“Do you have to leave?”

“I’m sorry, it’s just that I have work in the morning and I’m a monster if I don’t get enough sleep.” He offers an apologetic smile. “Sorry,” he says again.

“It’s okay.”

He takes his phone out. Frowns. “Fuck surge pricing,” he grumbles. “I’m not paying twenty dollars for an Uber.”

“I could give you a ride, if you want,” Jonathan offers. “I drove here.”

Edward hesitates. “How long have you had your license?” he asks carefully.

“Seven years.”

“And have you ever been in an accident?”

“No.” He wasn’t kidding when he said he was neurotic. “Do you have a thing about driving or something?”

“I have a thing about everything.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. Of _course_ he does. “Well, do you want me to drive you or not?”

“…Okay. But if you’re a bad driver, we’re not going on a second date,” Edward says threateningly.

“I didn’t know a second date was even on the table.”

“It is. And if you want to keep it that way, you’ll get me home safely.”


	15. Chapter 15

“Do you want to do a logic question first or a reading question?”

“Logic,” Rebecca says, her head hanging off the edge of her bed. “Definitely logic.”

“Okay.” Jonathan flips a few pages in her LSAT prep book. “Jason enters six races: biking, canoeing, horseback riding, ice skating, running, and swimming. He places between first and fifth in each. Two places are consecutive only if—”

“Is it bad that I’m already confused?”

“Yes. I haven’t even gotten to the question part.” He glances up. “Should I keep going?”

She sighs dejectedly. “I guess,” she grumbles.

 He returns his focus to the book. “Two places are consecutive only if the place numbers are consecutive. Jason's places in canoeing and running are consecutive. His places in ice skating and swimming are consecutive. He places higher in biking than in horseback riding.”

“Horseback riding wasn’t even one of the races!” she exclaims, sitting up.

“Yes it was, it was the third one. Biking, racing, horseback—”

“Oh my God. I’m going to fail.”

“You haven’t even heard the question yet.”

“I know,” she says. “I haven’t even heard the question yet and I already don’t get this. I’m going to fail.”

“…Well, you could always be a mock trial teacher.”

“Fuck you.” She motions for Jonathan to hand her the book. “Tell me about your date.”

He expected her to ask, but he thought they’d be able to get through at least one question before she did. “It was nice.” He passes the book back to her.

“Just nice?”

“It was… good,” he says lamely. He’s not really sure what Rebecca wants him to say. “We had dinner and then I drove him home.”

“What did you talk about?”

Jonathan shrugs. “Witch stuff. School. That sort of thing.”

She frowns. “That’s it?”

“Mostly.”

“Jeez. You’re boring.” She takes her phone out of her pocket. “Do you think you’re going to go out with him again?”

“I don’t know. If he wants to.”

“Well, do you think he wants to?”

“I don’t know.” Did he have a bad, boring date without noticing? He doesn’t feel like it went poorly, but he’s not exactly the best judge when it comes to this sort of thing.

“I’m checking his social media,” Rebecca announces, scrolling through her phone.

“Why?”

“To see if he posted anything about your date.” Her eyebrows screw together as she studies the screen. “Nothing new on his Instagram. Great profile, though. He’s got a color palette worked out and everything. Do you know if he has Twitter?”

Jonathan shrugs. He doesn’t really understand social media.

“Well, I’ll check anyway. Good thing he has a weird name. Easy to find.”

“If you say so.”

“Okay—Last night at eight forty-two he re-tweeted a post by Kevin Abstract—he’s a rapper—about how much he loves his boyfriend. That’s promising, he’s in a lovey-dovey state of mind.”

Jonathan nods, more than a little confused. “Sure.”

“He posted a bunch of memes about depression. So you have something in common,” she says, grinning.

“Very funny.”

“Oh, here’s something,” she continues excitedly. “You’re gonna love this: ‘I need a bf that can drive me places so I can save my Uber money for lingerie and Hanukkah gifts.’ Can he not drive?”

“I can’t tell if he can’t or if he just doesn’t.” He entertains the idea of Edward in lingerie for a few moments. “I don’t think that’s about me.”

“Well, it was posted after your date. And you said you drove him home.”

“Maybe that just made him realize how nice it is to be driven around for free. Doesn’t have anything to do with me.”

“Oh my God, you’re so _dense_ ,” Rebecca says, leaning over the edge of the bed to smack him in the shoulder. “Quit acting like this guy isn’t blatantly into you. It’s getting old.”

“I’m just being realistic.”

“You’re being pessimistic. And pessimism is annoying.” She pokes him in the side of the head. “You should call him and ask him out.”

“Right now?”

“No, in a couple days or something. But keep in contact with him until then. You want to make sure he’s actively aware of you.”

“I do?”

“Yes, you do. Trust me.”

He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t trust you to give me advice.”

“You don’t trust _anyone_ to give you advice.”


	16. Chapter 16

Somehow, against all odds, Jonathan manages to get Edward to go out with him again. And again. A few times, in fact. It’s great. Completely unbelievable, but great. He forgot that he actually sort of likes dating.

And then he gets depressed again.

He’s been laying in bed for hours. He has work to do. Spells and schoolwork and chores. And he hasn’t done any of them. He sat up for a few seconds around noon, but that was so exhausting he had to lie back down immediately after. So. That’s the type of day he’s having.

Jonathan scrolls aimlessly through Netflix. He doesn’t really have the energy to commit to a new show—the prospect of having to pay attention to plot and characters is truly daunting. No, he wants to find something mindless with muted colors and an absurd amount of episodes to binge.

His phone rings. Oh God his phone is ringing. He’s going to have to… _interact_ with someone.

He picks it up, staring at the screen. It’s Edward. Oh. He actually wants to talk to Edward. He _likes_ talking to Edward. So he musters what little stamina he has, and accepts the call. “Hello?”

“Hey!” Edward’s chipper voice says through the speaker. “Are you busy?”

“No.”

“Do you want to go do something tonight? I just got a _huge_ check from a rich client so I’ve got some extra date money.”

“Oh.” If he says no, then Edward will think Jonathan doesn’t want to see him. But if he says yes he’s going to be mopey and sullen and awful to be around. He’s not sure which is worse. “Actually, I’m not really… feeling well.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you sick?”

“Not exactly.” Why didn’t he just say yes? It would’ve been a perfect excuse.

There’s a brief pause. “Are you okay?” Edward asks after a while.

“That’s a good question.”

“…Okay. Do you want me to give you some space?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I like talking to you. I just—” Well. At this point he might as well be honest. “I’m… really depressed. And I don’t have the energy to go do something right now. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I get it,” Edward says. “I could come over, if you want company,” he offers. “Someone to talk to.”

He didn’t expect that. “Really?”

“Sure. I can bring food, we can chill, it’ll be nice. And I won’t ask you to do a single thing.”

Oh. That _does_ sound nice.

“You’re allowed to say no, of course,” Edward continues. “I promise not to take it personally. Or, if I do take it personally I’ll keep it to myself.”

“I think you should come over,” he says quietly. “It’ll be nice to see you.”

“Okay,” he murmurs. “I’ll be there in a bit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i sure love writing self indulgent chapters abt depression


	17. Chapter 17

“You don’t have any allergies, do you?”

“No food allergies.”

“Good,” Edward says, placing a spoonful of dried herbs into a tea infuser shaped like a spaceship. “Do you want four or five spoonfuls of sugar?”

“Five.” Jonathan marvels at Edward, completely perplexed by the fact that he not only brought food, but he brought supplies to make some sort of tea concoction for emotional rejuvenation. He even brought sugar with honeysuckle ground into it—to improve mood, apparently. Jonathan doesn’t understand why he’s putting so much effort in.

He spoons the sugar into the empty mug. Waits for the water to finish boiling. “I always make this stuff when I’m feeling like shit,” he says. “Even if I feel too terrible for it to make much difference, it tastes nice and it’s relaxing. So it’s a win-win.”

Jonathan nods, taking a chicken nugget out of one of the bags Edward brought over. He dips it into one of the many available sauces—honey mustard is obviously the superior sauce. Everyone with good taste knows that. “My grandmother used to make sweet tea for me, if she was in a good mood. Still cheers me up a bit. Nostalgia, I guess.”

“Perhaps. But I think the act of drinking tea is borderline therapeutic. It’s definitely magical.” The teakettle begins to whistle and Edward turns the stove off, pouring hot water into the mug. He places the infuser into the water. Goes into the living room, passing the mug to Jonathan. “Let that steep for a bit,” he instructs.

“Okay.”

Edward sits down beside him on the couch, reaching for a paper container of fries. “Do you want to watch something?”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you want me to be quiet?”

“No.”

“Good, because being quiet isn’t exactly my area of expertise.” He snags a chicken nugget. Hesitates. “This is a test,” he declares. “Which sauce?”

“What?”

“Which sauce should I dip this in? Like, which one is your favorite?”

“Oh. Honey mustard.”

Edward shakes his head gravely. “Unfortunately the correct answer was habanero ranch. We have to break up, I’m sorry.”

“How unfortunate,” he says, taking a sip of his tea. It’s good. Citrusy and sweet. A little flowery. He’ll have to remember to get the recipe from Edward. “Well, we had a good run.”

“We did. It’s a shame, we would’ve made a killer couple,” he says, nestling against Jonathan’s side.

“You think so?”

“Mhm. With my good looks and your ability to drive, we’re unstoppable.”

“I feel like you’re only dating me for my driver’s license.”

He waves his hand dismissively. “Nonsense. I _have_ a driver’s license. I just also happen to have crippling anxiety about driving.” He picks up one of the dipping sauces, dunking his chicken nugget into it. “The two tend to conflict.”

“I would imagine so.”

Edward takes two fries out of the bag, dipping them in the sauce. “Are you feeling any better?” he asks.

“Moderately.” He takes another sip of the tea. In all honesty, he’s light years ahead of where he was earlier. He’s sitting up, eating, _talking_. God, it’s good to be functional. “I’m… glad you’re here,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

He nods. Wraps an arm around Edward’s shoulder. “Sorry we didn’t go out like you wanted.”

“I don’t mind. Mostly, I just wanted to see you,” he murmurs, resting his head in the curve of Jonathan’s neck. “You know, you’re pretty fun to be around. Even when you’re depressed.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the longest thing I've ever written.

Jonathan wakes up with an ungodly crick in his neck. He groans, trying to shift into a more comfortable position. He must’ve fallen asleep on the couch. That’s interesting. He actually _slept._

He glances around. Edward is beside him, wedged between Jonathan’s arm and the back of the couch. His face is pressed up against the cushions. Jonathan doesn’t understand how he’s able to sleep so peacefully like that. Can he even breathe?

He sits up, careful not to disturb Edward, and moves to the edge of the couch. Edward instantly rolls over, coming to occupy the space Jonathan had left. A strip of sunlight shines through a slit in the curtains, illuminating Edward’s face. Jonathan can’t help but think how beautiful he is.

And how… different he looks.

For the first time, he notices a large swath of freckles stretching across his cheeks. He has a scar on the bridge of his nose, a nose which seems to be more crooked than it was before. His hair is a little less bright. His lips a little softer.

Is it possible that he just… never noticed those things before?

Edward stirs, making a small noise in the back of his throat. He reaches blindly in Jonathan’s direction. Latches onto his leg, mumbling something incoherent.

“Are you awake?” Jonathan asks quietly.

Edward makes another noise. Squeezes Jonathan’s thigh.

“Are you going to go back to sleep?”

“No,” he mumbles. “I’m up.” He yawns, allowing one leg to dangle off the edge of the couch. He opens his eyes. Jonathan notices that they’re a more muted shade of green than he thought they were. “I’m awake.”

“Do you want breakfast?”

“Maybe in a bit.” He smiles drowsily. “You’re gonna cook for me?”

“I can, if you want me too.”

“Mm. How chivalrous.”

“I wouldn’t call it that.” He watches Edward rub the sleep from his eyes. “Have you… always had freckles?” he asks carefully.

He pauses. “What?”

“You look different.”

He sits up, fully awake. “I look different,” he repeats.

“Yeah. Like, your face—”

Edward claps his hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “Oh my God,” he whispers from behind his palm. “Shit.”

“What is it?”

“I—Fuck. It must’ve worn off,” he mutters. He scrambles to get off the couch, going to the nearest mirror and peering anxiously at his reflection.

“What’s going on?” Jonathan asks, growing increasingly concerned.

Edward exhales a shaky breath. Runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m fine,” he mumbles. “I’m just… having a moment.” He sits down on the arm of the sofa. Folds his hands in his lap. Jonathan can see his fingers shaking.

“Edward,” he says softly. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s… A glamour,” he says, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm.

“A glamour?”

“I use glamour magic to make myself look good,” he says, his voice small. “So you would think I was attractive.”

“You—”

“Not just you, I mean, I do it for other people too. I do it all the time, and honestly it’s not really any different than makeup o-or plastic surgery or something, so really I don’t think it’s that big of a deal, but I understand if you don’t—”

“Edward,” he interrupts. “Calm down.”

“I’m calm, who says I’m not calm? I’m _completely_ calm.” He’s speaking so quickly it’s hard to tell what he’s saying.

“ _Edward_ ,” Jonathan repeats. “Please.”

He closes his mouth. Stares down at his hands. “Sorry,” he says quietly.

“It’s okay.” He reaches to give Edward’s knee a gentle squeeze. “For what it’s worth… Well. You still look incredible.”

He laughs quietly, still looking at his hands. “You’re just being nice.”

“I’m not really known for being nice.”

“You’re nice to _me_.”

“ _Only_ to you.”

Edward slides off the arm of the couch, coming to sit beside Jonathan. “Do you actually think I look good?”

“Stunning,” he murmurs. “Honestly—and, don’t take this the wrong way—I think you look better like this.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes. “No you don’t.”

“I actually do.” He absently raises his hand to brush his thumb across Edward’s cheek. “I like the freckles.”

“People used to say they were ugly in middle school.”

“Middle schoolers have notoriously terrible taste,” he says, studying Edward’s face. He’s still getting used to it. But he really does love how… natural he looks. He’s still fundamentally the same, he just seems like… Well. Like a real person.

“I suppose, but it still hurt.”

“I can imagine.” He lets his hand linger on Edward’s cheek a little too long. He lowers it quickly, his ears warming. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know.” He clears his throat. “See? You’re so attractive I’m actually at a loss for words.”

“Hush,” Edward says, playfully smacking Jonathan’s arm. He loops his arms around his neck. One hand creeps into his hair. “Jonathan?”

“Yes?”

“I’d like to kiss you.”

“Oh.” Jonathan becomes aware of just how close they are.

“May I?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Wha—Oh, um, I—yeah, I suppose so,” he stammers. Christ. How embarrassing.

He smiles slightly. “You’re so cute when you’re nervous,” he murmurs. He tilts his mouth up to meet Jonathan’s. Kisses him quickly—quicker than he would’ve liked.

Jonathan doesn’t really know what to do next. He could kiss him back. Should he ask? And what does he do with his _hands_?

“…Why aren’t you saying anything?” Edward asks cautiously. “Are you having an existential crisis or something?”

“Something like that.” He clears his throat. “Can I… um. Can I kiss you again?” Fuck. It sounded so effortless when Edward said it.

Edward beams, his face practically lighting up. “Of course.”

So he does. He kisses him. _Keeps_ kissing him. Because it feels so good just to be close to someone again. To let someone get close to him.

He’s beginning to remember why he used to like this so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending is super sloppy i'm sorry


	19. Chapter 19

“I brought Nora to meet my parents this weekend.”

“Oh yeah?”

Victor nods, grinding dried flower petals and sugar with a mortar and pestle. “They’re in town for a little while. I thought… Well. That’s what people do isn’t it? Meet each other’s parents?”

“I wouldn’t know.” He drips candle wax around the lid of a jar to seal it. “How’d it go?”

“Pretty well. Nora’s so charming, though she speaks like a baby, but—”

“Wait,” Jonathan interrupts. “What do you mean?”

He looks up from his work. “What do I mean by what?”

“You said she… talks like a baby. Is that a mistranslated saying or something?”

“Oh!” he laughs, shaking his head. “No, no. I just meant her Danish is terrible. Like a child.”

“…Oh.”

“She tried to learn a bit to impress my mother,” he explains, “but she doesn’t know any of the grammar. And she mixed up ‘Christmas’ and ‘wheel’. The effort was endearing though.” He sighs, sprinkling the sugar mixture into a sachet. “She really is a great girl,” he murmurs.

“You’re lucky to have her,” he says, returning his attention to the jar. He carves a sigil into the wax coating the lid.

“But what about you? How’s your love life going?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine?”

Why does everyone always ask that? “It’s going well. Edward stayed over the other night.”

“Really?” Victor asks excitedly.

“Yeah, but we didn’t—He just came over to hang out and we fell asleep on the couch. And maybe I kissed him a little.” He clears his throat. “That’s it.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“It’s not,” Jonathan says quickly. Sweeps a pile of wax shavings off his table. “It’s probably good for me,” he admits.

“It’s absolutely good for you.” Victor rummages through the cupboards, searching for an ingredient. “Remember when you were with that _awful_ young man? In college?”

“I remember.” He wishes he didn’t.

He shakes his head disapprovingly, muttering something fast and in Danish. “You went so fast and then it all fell apart and you were—”

“Yes, I _remember_ , Victor,” he says tersely.

“All I’m saying,” he begins, his tone softening, “is that it’s good to… take things slow sometimes. You don’t have to overcompensate.”

“I know.” He hates when Victor talks to him like that. Like he’s a child. He doesn’t appreciate being patronized.

He’s right, of course—he always is—but that doesn’t mean Jonathan has to like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shootin the shit, talkin abt shady pasts. fun times all around


	20. Chapter 20

Edward has string lights in his room. A bookshelf, with the books organized by color—not a particularly functional system, but it’s pretty. He’s got one of those lamps that wakes you up with sunlight. And a small whiteboard hanging above his desk.

It’s a nice room. Unfortunately, Jonathan really isn’t in the headspace to appreciate it.

Edward is perched delicately in Jonathan’s lap, arms wrapped around his neck. He’s wearing his freckles today, though the glamour is otherwise in effect. One of his hands twists into Jonathan’s hair, fingers pressing against his scalp. Jonathan kisses him insistently. Slips his fingertips beneath the waistband of his pants. He snags Edward’s lower lip between his teeth, eliciting a positively delightful little sound from him. His grip tightens on Jonathan’s hair.

Jonathan presses him back against the mattress, dipping his head to press his lips to his throat. He feels Edward’s free hand slide beneath his shirt. Feels his fingers work their way up to the dense patch of scars on his back. Jonathan shifts. Lets his teeth graze his skin.

Edward hums softly, running his fingers down his spine. “My roommate will be home soon,” he murmurs.

He says nothing. Kisses a slow trail up Edward’s neck.

“Jonathan.”

He should stop. He presses his palms against Edward’s hips. He _should_ stop. Brings his lips to the base of his jaw. God, he _really_ doesn’t want to stop.

“Baby,” Edward breathes, gently tapping the nape of his neck. “We’ve got to—”

“I know,” he mumbles against Edward’s skin. “I know. Sorry.” He pulls away, rolling over to lay on his back beside Edward. “Sorry,” he says again.

“It’s alright.” He moves to rest his head on Jonathan’s chest, wrapping an arm around his waist. “You’re cute so I forgive you.” He drags his thumb over a vaguely sore spot on Jonathan’s neck. “Oops.”

“Oops?”

“You have a hickey,” he says sheepishly. “A big one.”

“Oh.” He raises his own hand to the spot.

“I can give you something to cover it up,” he offers. “Though, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think you look irresistibly attractive right now.”

Jonathan feels his face flush. “And yet you seem to be resisting me.”

“It’s taking all my might to do so.” He sits up. Runs his fingers through his hair. “Do you want to stay the night?” he asks, walking two fingers up Jonathan’s torso.

“Will your roommate mind?”

“Probably not. But even if he does, he brings people here all the time and I have to live with it, so he can put up with you for one night.”

“Okay then. Sure.”

Edward smiles softly, leaning down to kiss Jonathan on the cheek. “I’ll order dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's not rlly any witch stuff in this chapter or the next one sorry folks just boys doing gay stuff  
> also the next one is crazy ooc please don't hate me  
> also this chapter....................................is trash


	21. Chapter 21

Jonathan always has trouble sleeping in other people’s houses. Something about the smell. Or the way the mattress feels. Or just… insomnia. He envies Edward, who can fall asleep pretty much anywhere. Must be nice.

He stares blankly up at the ceiling. Wills himself to fall asleep. It’s not long before his mind starts to wander, dredging up all sorts of unpleasant thoughts. Every embarrassing interaction he’s ever had. Every bad thing that’s ever happened to him. Every heartbreak. His stomach works itself into a knot.

He thinks about every way he can drive Edward out of his life. Every way this could go horribly, horribly wrong. It could turn out like last time, with all the fighting and the bitterness. And the drugs. Or it could turn out like all the others—commitment issues, insecurity, risky behavior. That sort of thing. Or it could just end. One way or another, it’ll have to end.

And he can’t imagine a scenario where it ends well.

Edward stirs beside him, burrowing further beneath the blankets. He grasps the hem of Jonathan’s shirt, tugging on it gently. “Go to sleep,” he mumbles from under the covers.

“I’m trying.”

He worms his way closer to Jonathan, stretching one leg over his shins. “You okay?”

“No. I don’t know. Hard night.”

“Do you want to talk?” he asks, yawning softly.

“You should go back to sleep,” he says.

“I’m fine. I don’t have work tomorrow or anything.”

“Still.”

Edward pokes his head out from under the blankets, laying it on Jonathan’s chest. “I’m all ears.”

Jonathan sighs. Trails his fingers absently up and down Edward’s back. “Just thinking about college,” he says finally.

“College?”

“Yeah. It was… a weird few years. I did a lot of stupid shit.”

“And one of those stupid things is what’s weighing on you?”

“All of them.” He lifts his head slightly, tucking Edward’s head beneath his chin. “Just a montage of every terrible relationship and shitty roommate and—” He stops. Shakes his head. “I’m going to let you go back to sleep.”

Edward makes a small noise in protest. “You clearly have something to say, so say it.”

“It’s just… a lot.”

“I have time.”

He pulls away from Edward, sitting up in bed. He rubs his eyes. “You know how Amish kids get a month or something to go out into the world to drink and do drugs and fuck each other?”

“Rumspringa.”

“Right. That was basically me when I started college.”

“Oh boy. Did you fuck a lot of Amish kids?” he asks, placing his head in Jonathan’s lap. “Should I be jealous?”

“The closest I got was an ex-Mormon.” He strokes Edward’s hair softly, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. “It was the first time I was… allowed to be queer. My grandmother would’ve killed me if she knew.”

He nods solemnly. “Relatable.”

“Yeah. But I think I sort of… Victor likes to say I overcompensated. And he’s probably right, I don’t know. He’s usually right about me.”

“What do you mean ‘overcompensated’?”

“I did a lot of things I didn’t want to with a lot of people I didn’t like just to prove that I could,” he says, his voice low. “Because everyone else was so far ahead of me and I thought that I needed t—And then there was this boy and he was just like every other white trash kid that beat me up in high school and we fought _all the time_ , but… He said he loved me. And I thought that was good enough.” He digs his fingers into the mattress. If he stops talking now he can salvage what’s left of his… pride, maybe? He’s not sure what he’s giving up by telling this story but he desperately wishes he could get it back.

Edward pries Jonathan’s hand away from the mattress, taking it into his own. He brushes his thumb over the back of his palm. “I think it’s so common for queer people to fall into these awful, toxic relationships, you know?” he murmurs. “Because no one tells you that you’re allowed to value yourself and—and you try to establish your worth through other people. And I’ve… I get that.”

A surprisingly cogent point from someone who just woke up. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “I don’t know. I don’t think I ever learned how to be good at relationships.”

“No one’s good at relationships,” Edward says. “That’s a myth created by the heterosexual media to make us all feel inadequate.”

“True.” He twirls a strand of Edward’s hair around his finger. “I’m sorry for making you listen to my long, sad story.”

“It wasn’t that long. And I like… I like knowing about you.” He leans into Jonathan’s touch, letting his eyes fall closed. “It’s easy to fall for terrible boys that say they love you, y’know?” he says softly.

“Yeah. It is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blech this is super ooc don't be mad at me


	22. Chapter 22

“Edward’s going to be mad at you for smoking inside.”

Jonathan starts, dropping his cigarette out the window he’s leaning out of. “Goddamn,” he mutters, watching as it falls onto the fire escape of the apartment below them. “It’s rude to sneak up on people.”

“I didn’t sneak up,” Edward’s roommate—Jonathan can’t remember his name at all—says. He’s holding a paper plate with a single piece of toast and two strawberries on it, along with some sort of smoothie. He picks up the toast, gesturing toward Jonathan with it. “You’re just not very observant,” he says, taking a bite.

Jonathan already doesn’t like this guy. “Perhaps _you’re_ just very quiet.”

“People call me a lot of things. Quiet is not one of them.”

“People can be wrong.”

The roommate rolls his eyes. Takes a sip of his smoothie. “Is Ed up?”

“He’s on the phone with a client.” Edward claims that he’s a private investigator. What that _actually_ means is he uses a combination of divination and sneaky photography to find out if people are cheating on their partners. It’s surprisingly lucrative.

“Ah. Doing his magic crap again?”

“Something like that.”

“Right.” He tears the stem off one of the strawberries. “Are you into that stuff too?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you see the future or anything?”

“Not really.”

“Can you summon any spirits?”

“Depends on the day.”

He takes a bite out of the strawberry. “If I wanted to talk to my dead grandma, could you do that?”

“Sure. Let me just go dig her up, take some of her bones, drop them on the floor, and interpret the patterns to see what she has to say.” He’s only half kidding.

The roommate makes a face. “She was cremated.”

“Oh. Then no.”

There’s silence for a few minutes. Is it an awkward silence? Certainly. Does Jonathan wish he was literally anywhere else? One hundred percent. Is it still better than having to talk to this guy? Without a doubt.

After a while, the sound of doors opening and closing can be heard as Edward makes his way through different rooms in the apartment. Thank God.

He stuffs the crumpled pack of cigarettes into his pocket, trying to wave away the lingering scent of smoke. The roommate apparently thinks this is funny. Jonathan doesn’t.

Edward appears in the kitchen doorway, still in his pajamas. “Be honest,” he says, leaning elegantly against the doorframe. “Which one of you was smoking in my kitchen?” He points accusingly at the roommate. “Harvey?”

The roommate, who is apparently named Harvey, puts his hands up in defense. “I quit months ago. It was him.”

Jonathan hates snitches. “I was doing it out the window,” he mumbles. “And it was only for a minute.”

Edward sighs heavily, and Jonathan prepares to be scolded. “If you’re going to poison your lungs, do it outside.”

“But it’s _cold_ out.”

“That’s just the price you have to pay.” He opens the fridge, taking out a carton of orange juice. “Have you eaten?”

“No.” Breakfast is for people who are functional.

“What about you?” he asks, turning to Harvey.

“I’m good.” He indicates the plate and his smoothie. “I’ve got to head out soon anyway. Class.”

“When do you think you’ll be home?”

“Lunchtime, maybe. Unless I can convince that cute barista to go out with me.”

Edward scoffs, pouring the juice into a glass. “She’s so far out of your league you’re playing different sports.”

“Hey, if this weirdo can get with you then I _definitely_ have a chance with her.”

That was uncalled for.

“What my darling Jonathan lacks in looks he makes up for in basic human decency—something you are sorely deficient in, I’m afraid.” He takes a carton of eggs out of the refrigerator, along with butter and milk. “Besides, I think he’s quite nice to look at. The problem is, I’m so unbelievably stunning that no one on Earth can compare. Except perhaps Angela Bassett.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” He checks his watch, setting down the plate. “And on that note, I have to go.” He downs the rest of his smoothie, depositing the glass on the counter. “My half of the rent is on top of my dresser.”

“Okay. Drive safe.”

“Thanks.” He grabs his bag off of a chair in the living room. “See you.”

“Bye.”

Jonathan watches him leave. Waits until the front door is closed before turning to Edward and saying, “Your roommate is a dick.”

“He can be, yeah.” Edward takes a sip of his juice. “I’m sorry he called you a weirdo.”

“Well. He’s not wrong.” Jonathan really doesn’t care about being called weird. That’s just par for the course at this point. He just… He doesn’t like the implication that he’s not good enough for Edward. He gets enough of that from himself.

“No, he’s not, but it’s still rude.” He rummages around in a cabinet, retrieving a small pan and setting it on the stovetop. “Do you want an egg?”

“I don’t really eat in the mornings.”

“I’m making you an egg.”

“…Okay.”


	23. Chapter 23

Jonathan sits on the floor of his bathroom in nothing but his underwear and a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Stares blankly at the wall. He’s been out of the shower for about twenty minutes but he can’t seem to bring himself to dry off, or get dressed, or… stand up.

But it’s fine. He’s doing great.

Maybe he should’ve taken a bath. Baths are more magical. He could put herbs and essential oils in baths to make him feel better. Can’t really put herbs in a shower. Unless he could figure out how to smoke in the shower… But it’s not really the same thing.

Jonathan doesn’t know what he’s feeling so terrible. Things are good for once. Logically, he should be happy. But every night he finds himself weighed down by this awful feeling of… dread. Or depression. Something heavy and bleak and thoroughly unpleasant.

He needs to stand up. He needs to stand _up._ He _needs_ to st—

He’s getting a text. He should, in theory, look at the text. But that would require lifting his arm, pressing a button, _reading_. Christ. _That’s_ a tall order.

Another text. What if it’s important? Then again, what if it’s not and he wasted what little energy he had reading an utterly unimportant text? He’s not sure which is worse.

A third text. Jonathan groans. Reaches blindly to retrieve his phone from the sink counter. He looks at the texts.

Oh. Wow.

Jonathan didn’t really understand the appeal of nude photos until this moment.

They’re not really nude pictures per se—Edward is _technically_ not naked in them—but Goddamn if he isn’t _stunning_ nonetheless. Not only is it impossibly sexy, it’s also a well composed photo. Edward certainly knows his angles.

Of course, there’s the dilemma of how to respond. Jonathan refuses, on principle, to send a picture of his penis. It’s just out of the question.

Compliments are always good. If only Jonathan knew how to give one.

Oh God, now he’s getting stressed.

He scrolls up a bit to see what the previous message said, hoping he can find something to respond to. _Feeling good tonight. Thought this might pique your interest._ And then the peach emoji. So. Not a ton to work with…

This is one of those moments where he wishes he was better at texting.

How enthusiastic should he be? Should he try to play it cool? He’s not even sure he knows how to do that. Jesus Christ he’s already having a full blown crisis and it’s only been six minutes.

Finally, he just decides to send _something._ Without thinking, he types _Consider it piqued,_ and hits send.

Why did he do that? That was a stupid thing to say. What’s _wrong_ with him?

Edward is typing. He’s been typing for a long time. Maybe he’s typing a lengthy message about how stupid Jonathan is for saying that—he would be fully within his right to do so.

After a minute or so, Edward finally sends a text. _Come over._ The message—notably shorter than expected—is followed by another picture.

It really is tempting. But then… He’s still not feeling well. And he’s not sure if he’d be able to enjoy Edward’s company if he did go see him.

Fuck depression.

Victor always says to ‘just show up’. Says that showing up is the hard part. Jonathan’s not sure how accurate that is. In his experience, _everything_ is the hard part.

But he really does want to go.

“Just show up,” he mumbles to himself. “All you have to do is show up.”

He types out a quick reply— _Be there in a bit—_ and sets his phone down on the bathroom floor. And then he stands up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> send noodz


	24. Chapter 24

It’s so nice to be able to have sex with someone without having to deal with the crushing weight of self loathing afterwards. Is this how normal people feel all the time? It really is spectacular.

Jonathan tugs his shirt over his head. Drags his fingers through his hair. He watches Edward cross the room, taking something out of his desk drawer. For probably the fiftieth time that night, Jonathan is struck by how lovely he is. He’s wearing Jonathan’s sweater—it’s horribly oversized on him and it looks _amazing_ —and a pair of boxer briefs. No glamour, mussed hair, and utterly perfect. God, he loves that boy.

Oh. Interesting.

He’ll worry about that later.

“Do you mind if I do work stuff?” Edward asks, setting a small notebook and a pendulum at the foot of the bed. It’s nicer than the one Jonathan uses, which is to be expected.

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks. I’m _super_ behind.” He opens his notebook to a page with a hand drawn pendulum board. “This guy came in with a case for me to look at and I don’t even know where to start. I’ve been putting it off.”

“Oh.” He watches as Edward directs his focus toward his task. The pendulum, a small malachite point attached to a silver string, begins to swing gently over the board. “Do you ever use that for locator spells?” he asks.

“Sometimes. I prefer candle wax scrying for that sort of thing. Why?”

Jonathan chews on the edge of his thumbnail. “Do you know what it means when the pendulum won’t… stop swinging?”

“In a locator spell?” He shrugs. “Probably that whatever you’re looking for can’t be found.”

“But usually when that’s the case it just doesn’t move at all. So why would it be different?”

“Um…” He sticks the tip of his tongue out, making a note of something. “Maybe it’s enchanted or charmed or something to prevent people from finding it. But I don’t know if that makes sense in context.”

“It… It might. I’m not really sure either.”

“What are you looking for?” Edward asks, steadying the pendulum.

“Just… Someone I lost touch with a while ago.” He feels like it isn’t the best time to go into great detail about his perpetual struggle to locate his mother. Absentee parents are a pretty big mood killer.

“You can’t just look this person up on Facebook or something?”

“I tried.”

“Hm.” He looks up from his notebook, staring thoughtfully into space. “Is this person a witch?”

“I think so.”

“Well, that could be the problem. Their energy could be interfering with the spell. Making your pendulum go all screwy.”

“Really?”

He nods, returning his gaze to the stone as it starts to swing again. “But I don’t know. Maybe you just suck at pendulum readings.”

“That’s entirely possible.”

Edward makes another note as the pendulum settles above a section of the makeshift board. He closes the notebook, using the chain as a bookmark and resting the malachite stone on top of the cover. “Are you staying over?” he asks, scooting across the bed to sit beside Jonathan.

“I might as well. It’s late anyway.”

He makes a vague noise of agreement, leaning to press a kiss to the base of Jonathan’s neck. He brings a hand to Jonathan’s waist, his thumb grazing one of his ribs. “You must be freezing,” he mumbles, kissing a path up to his jaw. “Do you want your sweater back?”

“I’m alright. It looks nice on you.”

“Everything looks nice on me. Except high waisted jeans.” He tips his head to catch Jonathan’s earlobe between his teeth. “Thanks,” he says softly, breath warm against his skin.

“Sure.”

“You’re so beautiful,” Edward murmurs. He turns to kiss Jonathan properly. Loops his arms around his neck.

“No I’m not. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t be self deprecating. I think you’re beautiful.”

“No one else does.” No one else ever has. He’s not exactly ugly, but beautiful is certainly a stretch.

“No one else needs to.” He pulls away, surveying Jonathan’s face. “You’ve got these lovely eyes. Straight nose. Incredible cheekbones.” He brushes his thumb over Jonathan’s lower lip. “I love… the way you look.”

“Well. That makes one of us.”

“Hush,” he says, kissing the tip of his nose. “You’re gorgeous. Stunning. All the things you call me.” He brings his lips to meet Jonathan’s. “We’re probably the most beautiful couple that’s ever existed. We’re like a modern day Antony and Cleopatra.”

“Which one am I?”

“Definitely Cleopatra.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remember that song by the lonely island ft. akon


	25. Chapter 25

“How’s your boyfriend?”

“Good.” Jonathan’s never heard anyone refer to Edward as his boyfriend. He sort of likes that. He tosses some peanuts to the birds perched on the railing of his fire escape. “I’ve been seeing him a lot.”

“Have you guys hooked up yet?” Rebecca asks. She pulls a strip off the string cheese she’s holding, laying it down on the ground as an offering. After some inspection, it snags the cheese in its beak, turning to share it with one of its companions.

“Yeah.”

“Nice. How was it?”

“Y’know.” He watches the birds divide the morsels among themselves. “It was… fine. He’s very loud. And, um… he’s got nice skin.” Is it possible to compliment someone’s skin without sounding like a serial killer?

She scoffs. “You sound like that guy from Silence of the Lambs.”

Apparently not. “I know.”

“Is he into anything super weird? Any kinks to shame?”

“Not that I know of.” He doesn’t really like to gossip. Especially about that sort of thing. It just seems rude. And he doesn’t really want to open their relationship to scrutiny and criticism from his coworkers. Because that never ends well.

“Are you super uncomfortable right now?” she asks.

“Only moderately.”

“Noted.” Rebecca offers another piece of string cheese to the birds. “Do these guys always come around to get fed?”

“Sometimes.” Jonathan points at one of the crows pecking at a peanut. “That one’s a regular. Mostly he comes by himself, but sometimes he brings friends.”

“So it’s a boy?”

“I think so. Google was less than helpful, and it’s hard to tell without doing actual blood tests and all that, but I’m, like, seventy-two percent sure that one’s male.”

She peers at the bird, who stares back at her with shiny black eyes. “Can I pet him?”

“I don’t think they like to be touched. They’re not affectionate like that.”

The crow squawks, his companions chattering in response. One of them begins to stuff the remaining peanuts into its craw.

“What are they saying?” Rebecca asks.

He shrugs. “How should I know?”

“Well, you’re the bird whisperer. I thought you might know what their little bird noises mean.”

“I’m not a bird whisperer.”

“They literally come sit outside your window so you can feed them. And they give you things!”

“That was _one_ time.” Jonathan shakes his head, rolling up the bag of peanuts. “It took me hours to figure out whose keys they brought me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just smth short abt birds


	26. Chapter 26

“We’re out of mint.”

“Just use a teabag.” Jonathan turns a page in his book. _Sabriel._ It was a recommendation from Edward. Not bad, if a bit wordy.

“Aren’t you the one who always says it works better fresh?” Victor asks, dumping some residue out of the mint bin and into the trash.

“I only say that to customers.” He’s a firm believer in making do. Herbs can be expensive. Teabags, which often contain herbs, are cheap and plentiful at the local supermarket. Fancy beeswax candles infused with vanilla aren’t any more effective than birthday candles. And there’s no shame in using regular playing cards instead of a fancy tarot deck.

Victor sighs, taking out a mint teabag and cutting it open. “When this spell doesn’t work, I’m blaming you.”

“Don’t blame me, blame whoever used up all the mint.” He props his legs up on his desk, leaning back in his chair.

He mutters something about the holidays and money spells, dumping the contents of the teabag into a sachet. “Do you know who’s working Christmas week?”

“Me. Maybe Floyd.”

“You always work during the holidays. Must be awful.”

He shrugs. “It’s not like I have other plans.”

“Are you doing anything with Edward this year?”

“I don’t know. He’s Jewish, so unless he’s got big Hanukkah plans, probably not.” Jonathan dog-ears the corner of the page he’s on, closing the book and setting it down. “My plans as they currently stand are to get very, very high and hopefully have some quality visions.”

“You two should come over for dinner with Nora and I,” Victor suggests, instantly brightening at the thought. “Like a double date.”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “I don’t want to impose.”

“It’s no imposition. I told you she’s been wanting to meet you. And Edward is so lovely, he’s more than welcome.”

Jonathan doesn’t care for double dates. He doesn’t care for dates at all. Dinner is even worse—eating in front of strangers? Insane. “I’ll ask Edward,” he says. Of course Edward’s going to want to go. Because he’s a semi-functional person who can socialize quite well. He might as well be an alien.

“It’ll be so nice. You can bring those wonderful—what are they called? Like scones, but just bread?”

“Biscuits.”

“Biscuits!” He shakes his head. “When will Americans learn that biscuits are dessert and not bread?”

“As soon as Europeans learn how to survive in heat over sixty-five degrees.”


	27. Chapter 27

“What do you think of this?”

Jonathan looks up to see Edward gesturing with some terrifying black, strappy thing. He thinks it's underwear, but honestly it’s impossible to tell. “It’s… interesting.” He’d probably come to like it if he saw Edward in it, but that’s less to do with the garment itself.

Edward toys with the material, staring thoughtfully down at it. “I went through a period where I was sort of… very uncomfortable with wearing lingerie. But I think I’m getting back into it.” He drops the item on the bed. “I was thinking of adding some new pieces to my collection.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm.” He goes to the dresser, rifling through the bottom drawer. “What about these?” he asks, tossing another item at Jonathan.

He reaches to catch it instinctively, inspecting it. It’s a sort of sea green, with a lot of openings in various impractical places. He’s not quite sure how one would wear it. But that’s sort of how he feels about all lingerie. “I like the color.”

“Is that all you like about it?”

“It’s… a nice material. Soft.” He grimaces at his own awkwardness. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he admits.

“I’m just trying to figure out what you like,” Edward says. He compares two pairs of the same type of underwear. “I can’t believe I was ever able to fit into these,” he mumbles, discarding the smaller of the two.

“Why does it matter what I like?”

“Well, I’m probably going to do some shopping this weekend, and I’d like to get at least one thing we can both appreciate.”

“Oh.” No one has ever… worn lingerie for him before. He thought that was something that only existed in movies and poorly written romance novels.

“So,” Edward continues, “if you could give me any hints about what you want me to get, that would be greatly appreciated.”

“Honestly, I’ll probably like anything you wear.”

“You’re sweet.” He gestures for Jonathan to hand the underwear back. “Do you prefer black or colors?”

“Depends on the color.”

“Black or red?”

“Black.”

“Black or green?”

“…Depends on the shade of green.”

Edward rolls his eyes. “Are you being difficult on purpose?”

“Only a little.”

He smacks Jonathan in the arm with the green underwear. “Bastard.”

“Sorry.”

He takes a seat on the bed beside Jonathan, sprawling out on the mattress. “I’m going to get something crazy with… with sequins. And straps. And _mesh_. And you’re going to regret being snarky.”

“Actually, it’s funny you mention that, because all the things I look for in lingerie are sequins, straps, and mesh.” He grins down at Edward, poking his stomach gently. “It’s almost like you’re psychic.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I actually did a _super_ in depth pendulum reading for you to figure out your lingerie preferences. I just couldn’t believe that you were into that sort of thing, I had to hear it from the source.”

“It’s all true. Now, I’m willing to compromise on straps, but sequins and mesh really are a necessity.”

“Hm, that might be a bit of a problem,” he says, lifting his head to rest it in Jonathan’s lap. “See, _I’m_ willing to compromise on sequins and mesh, but not straps.”

“Ah. Then it seems we’re at an impasse.”

“It seems so. Guess we’ll just have to break up.”

“I guess so.”

Edward takes Jonathan’s hand into his own, pressing a kiss to the inside of his wrist. “You can be funny sometimes, you know that?”

“I try.” Jonathan smoothes a piece of hair away from Edward’s face. “Completely unrelated, but… Do you have holiday plans?”

“Um… I got invited to a couple Christmas parties. And I’m having some friends over for the first night of Hanukkah. Why?”

“Oh, nothing.” He taps the back of Edward’s palm absently. “My friend wants me to come over and meet his girlfriend sometime during the holidays, and he suggested that… He said I should bring you.”

“Is this a friend I know?”

“Victor.”

“Oh, right. Denmark’s best.”

“Yeah. But if you’re busy, it’s fine.”

He shrugs. “I don’t think I’ll be that busy. It’s just a few parties, and I might not even go to some of them. I’m not a fan of Christmas.”

“Me neither.”

“Figure out a day, and I’ll make it work,” he says. “I love a good double date.”

Damn. So there’s no excuse not to go. “I’ll talk to Victor.”

“Cool.” He bites the tip of his thumb, looking past Jonathan and up at the ceiling. “You know, you’re more than welcome to come to my Hanukkah thing.”

“I don’t want to keep you from hanging out with your friends.”

“I can hang out with you and my friends at the same time. I’m a great multitasker. Besides, it might be nice to show you off a bit.” He smiles slightly. “What do you say?”

“…I’ll think about it,” he says slowly. “Is that okay?”

“Sure. Just let me know when you decide so I know how much food to make.”

“Okay.” It might be fun. Edward… he seems to want Jonathan to be there. So that’s something. And he should probably meet his boyfriend’s friends at some point.

It could be nice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know if there r typos in this i wrote it late last night and i was exhausted so idk if it's crap or not


	28. Chapter 28

Edward stretches out on Jonathan’s bed, sighing softly. “I’m starving,” he says, rolling over onto his side. “Can we order something?”

“Go ahead.” Jonathan sits up, searching the bedroom floor for any available pieces of his discarded clothing.

“Any preference?”

“Not really.”

“Then I’m getting a pizza.” He retrieves his phone from the bedside table. “What toppings do you want?”

“I don’t care. You can get whatever you want.”

“What if I want anchovies?”

Jonathan shrugs. “I like anchovies.”

“…Good. So do I.” He begins to type the order into his phone.

He stands up, preparing to put his pants back on. They don’t really fit. They’re barely long enough, and they’re much too baggy. He can’t remember the last time he had clothes that fit. He really does have an inconvenient body type.

He can feel Edward’s eyes on him. “You’re staring,” he says quietly.

“Am I?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I didn’t notice.”

“Edward.”

He’s silent for a moment. His tone is softer when he decides to speak again. “What… happened to you?”

Ah. So this is about all the scars. “A lot of things.” He scans the room, looking for a shirt to put on. He doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“Bad things?”

“Mostly.” He snatches a flannel from its place draped over the back of a chair, quickly tugging it on and beginning to button it. “It’s fine though.”

“Is it?”

“It is.”

“…Okay.” And, thankfully, that’s the end of it. Edward looks back down at his phone. “The pizza should be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Alright.” Jonathan reclaims his seat on the edge of the bed. The whole energy of the room has shifted. Edward lies still, staring quietly up at the ceiling. Jonathan folds his hands in his lap. Unfolds them. And folds them again. His skin crawls.

He’ll have to talk about it eventually. What will he do then?

“Are you okay?” Edward asks softly, reaching out to rest the back of his palm against Jonathan’s thigh.

“I’m fine. Just thinking.” He taps Edward’s palm with his index finger. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make things… weird.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s just—I don’t want to pry.”

“I know.”

“Will you kiss me?”

He bends down, pressing his lips to Edward’s. He braces an arm against the mattress. Moves to kiss his forehead. “Sorry,” he says again.

“Don’t be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is short. gonna be honest, i couldn't come up with a single idea to write last night. srry


	29. Chapter 29

“I feel like I should be helping,” Edward says, swinging his legs. He’s sitting on the kitchen countertop, holding a wine glass full of what has to be the weirdest, sweetest wine Jonathan has ever tasted.

“It’s alright.” Jonathan rolls his sleeves up to his elbows, preparing to knead the lump of slightly sludgy dough sitting before him. “It’s easy. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid.”

“Do you know how to make other kinds of bread or just biscuits?”

“Well, it’s sort of the same process, just different ingredients.” He pushes the heel of his palm into the dough, driving all his energy into it. “I can make a standard loaf of bread, but I think if I had a recipe I could make other kinds.”

“Do you know what challah bread is?” Edward asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“Uh… Is that the one that looks like a braid?”

“Yes!” he chirps. “I was thinking of making some for Hanukkah, but I can never get the dough right. Do you think you could teach me?”

“Maybe. Do you know what goes into it?”

“Yeast, flour, eggs, honey, vegetable oil, salt.” He rattles off each ingredient without hesitation. “And I like to add chestnuts on Rosh Hashanah, for success in the new year.”

“Okay. That seems pretty normal. If you give me a recipe I can definitely do that.” The dough begins to thicken a bit. He keeps kneading.

“You have so many skills,” Edward remarks, swirling the wine in his glass.

“Not that many.”

“You can make _bread_. From _scratch_.”

“It’s not very difficult once you get the hang of it.”

“You can drive,” he continues. “Make medicine.”

“It’s not really medicine.”

“You can cook,” he says.

“So can you.”

“Just because I can do it too doesn’t mean you can’t.” He flicks a bit of stray flour in Jonathan’s direction. “Learn to take a compliment.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” He takes a rolling pin, flattening the dough into a thin layer. “What time is it?”

“Five twenty-two. We have a while before we have to leave.”

“That’s good. I want to shower before I have to go be around people.” He folds the dough in half, cutting it into squares. “It’s not too late to cancel.”

“Do you want to cancel?”

“No,” he says quickly. “I’m just letting you know in case… _you_ wanted to cancel. But you don’t. So forget I said anything.”

“We don’t have to go.”

“I should go.” He sighs heavily. “I like Victor. And his girlfriend seems nice. But the whole prospect of having to go somewhere and talk to people and eat is just so—it’s a lot.”

“I know.” Edward offers the bottle of wine to Jonathan. “It might give you a boost.”

Jonathan wrinkles his nose, shaking his head. “I’m not really a wine person. And that shit tastes awful.”

“I like it. It tastes like grape juice.”

“Grape juice is awful.”

“…That’s a wrong opinion, but okay.”


	30. Chapter 30

“Oh God, is it bad that I’m having strong regrets about being here?”

“Gonna be honest, I’m also very stressed right now but I’m trying to keep it under control so I can support you,” Edward says, his gaze fixed on Victor’s front door. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t believe me either.” He reaches into his jacket pocket, producing a honeysuckle blossom and tucking it behind Jonathan’s ear. “For luck.”

“Do you just have flowers on you at all times?”

“Whatever it takes to get a little hit of magic when I’m on the go.” He returns his attention to the door. “So. Should we go in?” He doesn’t make any moves to do so.

“You have to ring the doorbell.”

“Me? Why do I have to do it?” Edward asks, his voice rising in pitch. “He’s _your_ friend!”

“I’m holding the biscuits.” He gestures with the container in his hands. Could he hold it in one hand? Yes. But if he did that, he would have no reason not to ring the bell.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“I thought you said you were going to support me!”

“Fine!” He jabs the bell with his finger, immediately jumping away from the door and grabbing onto Jonathan’s elbow. “I’m so fucking good to you,” he grumbles, his fingers digging into his arm.

“I know you are, and I really appreciate it. Also I’m probably in love with you.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The door swings open and Victor greets them in a surprisingly nice Christmas sweater. “Jonathan!” he says brightly. “You’re here! And you brought scones!”

“Biscuits.”

“Whatever.” He turns to Edward, still beaming. “And it’s so nice to meet you properly.”

“Likewise,” Edward says, smiling warmly. It’s insane how quickly he can put on a social attitude. “I’ve heard so many good things about you.” No he hasn’t.

“Oh, you’re too kind. “ He steps out of the doorway, ushering them into the house. “Please, come in. I can take that,” he says, relieving Jonathan of the biscuit container. “Nora’s through there, in the living room.” He disappears into the kitchen, leaving Edward and Jonathan to find their way to the living room.

“How can he afford a house if he works at the same place you do?” Edward asks quietly.

“Because he doesn’t have to pay off student loans.”

The come to the living room, hesitating in the doorway. A woman—who, logically, must be Nora—is sitting on the couch reading a book. Once she notices them standing there, she puts the book down and stands up. “Hello,” she chirps, going over to them. “You must be Jonathan,” she says, taking one of his hands into both of hers. “Victor said you’d be tall.”

“Glad to know that’s my most salient feature.” He offers a polite smile, resisting the urge to yank his hand away. He really doesn’t want to be rude, but he also really doesn’t like being touched by strangers. “This is my boyfriend, Edward,” he says, indicating the aforementioned Edward.

“Hi,” he says, smiling at her as well. “So nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She shakes Edward’s hand. “You’re so adorable, do people ever tell you that?”

“Sometimes. It’s usually followed by ‘you look like a little elf’, so it’s not my favorite compliment, but I try to focus on the ‘adorable’ part.”

She laughs—a very loud laugh—patting Edward’s hand with hers. “Is that a dig at your height?”

“Oh, absolutely. And my ears. Peter Pan is another popular comparison.”

Victor reappears, holding a dish towel. “I see everyone’s been introduced?”

“You didn’t tell me how cute they were together,” Nora says, motioning for him to come closer. “You’re a very aesthetically pleasing couple.”

Jonathan doesn’t know what that means. “Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you,” Edward echoes, smiling once again.

“Well, dinner’s pretty much ready,” Victor says. “Is everyone ready to eat or should we wait?”

“I could eat,” Edward says. He glances up at Jonathan who merely shrugs in vague agreement. “We could both eat.”

“Great! I’ll set the table.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels v awkward how do ppl talk to each other


	31. Chapter 31

Jonathan picks at his food, listening to Edward and Nora chatter about nothing in particular, with Victor interjecting every so often. It’s not that it doesn’t taste good—Victor prepared an amazing roast duck with potatoes, which is apparently a Christmas-y dish—he just would rather die than let a stranger see him eat. He wonders if Victor would let him take leftovers home.

“I can’t believe you’re both witches,” Nora says, practically fawning over Edward. “Do you ever, like… have crazy magical sex?” she asks, lowering her voice.

Oh God.

Edward laughs. “Not really. Although, this one time, we were—”

Jonathan clears his throat pointedly, spearing a potato rather aggressively with his fork.

He stifles a smile, patting Nora’s arm lightly. “We’ll talk,” he whispers.

“So,” Victor says, thankfully steering the conversation in another direction, “how’s your thesis coming, Jonathan?”

“Oh, you know… Sort of terrible but it’s getting better.” He nibbles the edge of the potato. “I just have to do more editing.”

“I could take a look at it, if you like,” Edward offers, tearing a biscuit in half and putting some of the duck on top. “I’m basically a genius.”

“Weren’t you just talking about how you dropped out of high school?” Victor asks.

“The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“What are you studying, Nora?” Jonathan asks, hoping to leave this topic behind.

“Oh, I’m a linguistics major with a minor in biochemistry.”

“…Interesting combination.” He should’ve asked a better question. He doesn’t really have anything to say to that.

“What kind of career are you looking into with that degree?” Edward asks, jumping in to save Jonathan from an awkward silence.

Nora begins to describe a very complex, very specific job and all the steps it would take to get it. Jonathan stops paying attention halfway through, but he nods as if listening very carefully. Edward does the same, though he might actually be listening. It’s hard to tell.

The evening goes on relatively smoothly. Both Victor and Nora seem to adore Edward, and Edward positively eats up the attention. At the end of the night, Victor does let Jonathan take home leftovers—which he is silently very happy about—in exchange for the rest of the biscuits. Edward and Nora swap phone numbers—which Jonathan is silently very worried about—and they go on their merry way.

And everything is fine.

“So,” Edward says, getting into the passenger seat of Jonathan’s car and buckling his seatbelt. “That wasn’t so terrible.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

He’s quiet for a few moments while Jonathan starts up the car. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he says after a while, “but I seem to recall someone saying something about being in love with me?”

Oh. Great. Now he has to talk about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact there are 2 reasons why i decided jonathan doesn't like to eat in front of people: one, I hate eating in front of people. two, i cannot fucking figure out how to write people eating food. that is all


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an interlude

“Say it again?” Edward murmurs, twisting his fingers into Jonathan’s hair.

“I love you.”

“Mm. One more time.”

Jonathan smiles, pressing a kiss to the inside of Edward’s thigh. “I love you. A lot, probably.”

“Probably?”

“I don’t want to make sweeping statements. Perhaps I just love you the average amount. Who’s to say?”

“If you don’t love me more than you’ve ever loved _anything_ then we’re breaking up.” He sighs softly as Jonathan kisses his way up to his stomach.

“I suppose we’ll have to break up then. My love for moon pies by far surpasses any love I could feel for you.”

“What on God’s green Earth is a moon pie?” he asks.

“It’s like two big cookies dipped in chocolate with marshmallow cream in the middle.”

Edward shakes his head, trailing his fingers down the back of Jonathan’s neck. “You’re going to have diabetes in, like, a year from eating shit like that.”

“Worth it.”

He chuckles softly, pushing himself into a seated position. “I love you.”

“Really?”

“Of course.” He rests his head on Jonathan’s shoulder, pushing his face into the curve of his neck. “Sometimes I think about how much I like you and I want to cry a little bit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like… Just thinking about how happy I could be with you makes me feel… some sort of emotion. And it’s so much that the only way to handle it is to cry.”

“Oh.”

“Is that weird?” Edward asks quietly.

“No. I don’t think so.”


	33. Chapter 33

“So,” Edward begins, indicating a small blue spinning top. “This is _gimel_. If it lands on this side, you get everything in the pot.” He flips it over. “This one is _nun_. This means you don’t do anything. _Hey_ means you take half the pot, and _shin_ means you put a piece into the middle.”

Jonathan nods, trying to commit everything Edward is saying to memory. “What if you don’t have anything to put in the middle?”

“You can either ask another player for a loan, or you give up and you’re out.” He spins the top absently. “I’ve never played with anyone who actually asked for a loan, though. That’s not how _I_ learned dreidel.”

“Okay.”

“Do you want to try?” he asks, offering the dreidel to Jonathan.

“Sure.” He holds it above the table, giving it a good spin. It lands on a Hebrew character that looks sort of like a w. “Is that… _shin_?”

“Yes!” Edward says brightly. “So what do you do?”

“…Take half?”

He shakes his head, throwing a chocolate coin at Jonathan’s chest. “Put a piece in the middle.”

“Damn,” he mumbles. “All your friends are going to think I’m dumb.”

“Probably a little. Try again.”

He spins the dreidel again. _Nun_. “So I… don’t do anything.”

“Correct.” He leans forward, giving the tip of Jonathan’s nose a quick kiss. “See? You’re learning.”

Jonathan offers him a slight smile. “Are you sure it’s not weird for me to be there?”

“Not at all. My friend Selina is a _goy_ , but she always stops by my Hanukkah parties and she kicks all of our asses at dreidel and drinks too much Manischewitz but it’s super fun anyway and we all love her.”

“But I’m not good at dreidel and I don’t like Manischewitz.”

“Irrelevant.” He pokes Jonathan’s chest, as if preparing to impart some very important wisdom. “If you’re worried about not fitting in, just offer to read people’s fortunes. They love it—I’ve got Hanukkah themed tarot spreads you can use!—and they will love you.” He reaches out to pinch Jonathan’s cheek. “You are very cute and nice and if my friends don’t like you I’ll yell at them.”

“Wow, you’d do that for me?”

“One hundred percent.” Edward kisses his cheek, patting the top of his head. “I’ve got to do food prep. Will you help me peel potatoes?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks dear.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u say manischewitz three times in the mirror i'll appear in ur house and give u gelt


	34. Chapter 34

For the first part of the evening, Jonathan sequesters himself away in the kitchen. He plates the latkes, cleans the pans, anything to keep busy and stay out of the way.

Edward doesn’t come looking for him until after they’ve finished lighting the candles. “What are you doing in here?” he asks, tugging on Jonathan’s sleeve. “Come socialize.”

“Socializing isn’t really my strong suit.” He dries a wine glass with a dish towel.

“I didn’t invite you here so you could hide in the kitchen.”

Jonathan makes a face, resisting Edward’s efforts to drag him into the living room. “Your friends won’t like me.”

“Don’t say that.”

“They won’t.”

“Well, so what if they don’t?” he says. “I like you enough for everyone.” And with that, he pulls a reluctant Jonathan into the living room to meet people.

____

He meets Nina and Diedre first. Nina is a short, somewhat sullen woman with a white yarmulke on her head and a red cup clutched tightly in her hand. Diedre is a chipper blonde, noticeably taller than her partner. She shakes Jonathan’s hand vigorously upon meeting him.

“Edward’s told us _so_ much about you,” she says, beaming at them.

“All good things I hope,” Jonathan says, forcing a pleasant tone.

“He says you like honey mustard,” Nina says dryly.

He didn’t expect _that_ to be the trait that turned people against him. “Oh, well—”

“Be nice,” Edward chides, playfully swatting Nina’s arm. “It’s not his fault he’s country trash.”

He’s not wrong, but that doesn’t mean Jonathan has to like it.

____

“This is Oswald,” Edward says, steering Jonathan toward another guest—a man, maybe two or three years older than Jonathan. He’s got pointed features and a slightly clammy complexion. He doesn’t have a yarmulke like some of the other guests, but he’s sporting a ring with a six pointed star.

Oswald smiles slightly, revealing a row of abnormally sharp teeth—not fangs per se, but pointier than one would expect. “Edward tells me you take care of birds.”

“I don’t really take care of them,” Jonathan says. “They sort of just… come around. And I feed them a little.”

“That’s nice. They must like you.”

“I like to think they do.”

Edward wraps an arm around Jonathan’s waist. “Oswald does a lot of animal magic,” he informs Jonathan. “But he really likes birds more than anything else.”

“Do you keep them as pets or just keep an eye out for them?” Jonathan asks.

“A bit of both. I know a music store that has parakeets, so I go there to see them sometimes. And I have an African grey parrot.”

“What’s its name?”

“Lord Byron. And he doesn’t respond if you don’t say ‘lord’.”

“I see.”

____

“Oh. Hi Harvey,” Jonathan says, disappointed that he’s going to have to talk to this guy.

“Hey.”

“Were you… invited to this?” he asks casually, feigning nonchalance.

“…I live here.”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “Good talk.”

____

“I remember every single one of Edward’s boyfriends,” Selina—who is very drunk but in a classy way—drawls, waving a wine glass grandly.

“Oh.” Jonathan isn’t sure if he likes Selina or not. He can see why Edward likes her. She’s loud and brash and dramatic like he is. For some reason she just makes Jonathan feel tired.

“You,” she says, jabbing him in the chest with a long fingernail, “are by far the least impressive.”

“…Oh.”

“’Lina, leave him alone,” Edward says, reaching out to steady her. “Don’t be mean.”

“I’m just being realistic.”

“She’s probably right,” Jonathan says quietly.

“No. She’s not.” Edward puts himself between Jonathan and Selina, directing her to another part of the room. “Do you want to play dreidel? We can play for real money if you want.”

“Mm, that sounds nice.”

Jonathan watches Edward lead her away, suddenly feeling indistinctly insecure

____

Jonathan stares up at the ceiling, vaguely aware of Edward kissing a path up his neck. He can’t tell if the evening went well or not. He liked Oswald. And Diedre was nice. There were a few other people that were pleasant but unmemorable.

And then Selina didn’t like him. Which is fine. He didn’t really expect her to. But it still sort of… stings.

Edward nips lightly at his throat. Jonathan barely notices.

He sits up, his face twisting into a sad frown. “You’re not at all into this, are you?”

Jonathan sighs. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. What’s going on?”

“…I told you your friends wouldn’t like me.”

“What makes you think they didn’t like you?”

“Well, one of them said I was your worst boyfriend, so there’s that,” he says bitterly, rolling over onto his side.

“Selina has notoriously bad taste,” he murmurs. “Good taste in jewelry and expensive cheeses, terrible taste in men.” He lies down beside Jonathan, nestling against his chest. “You’re perfect.”

“I’m not.”

“I think you are.”

Jonathan makes a slight grumbling noise in the back of his throat, wrapping his arms around Edward. “You’re too nice to me.”

“Someone should be nice to you. It would be _nice_ if other people could pull their weight, but I guess I have to do everything myself.”

He chuckles softly, bending to kiss the top of Edward’s head. “I love you.”

“I love you too. When you go home, do you want to take some leftover latkes with you?”

“Yes please.”


	35. Chapter 35

“I think I’m sad today,” Edward mumbles, burying his face in Jonathan’s neck.

“Why are you sad?”

“I don’t know. It just happens sometimes, y’know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Jonathan trails his fingertips down Edward’s back, pulling him closer against his chest. “I could make you tea,” he offers. “You always say drinking tea is therapeutic.”

“Mm. That _would_ be nice,” he murmurs. “I have a lot of recipes you could use. And some pre-made herb blends.”

“So do you want me to make tea?”

He nods, pressing his cheek against Jonathan’s shoulder. He grasps at the back of his shirt, effectively preventing him from going anywhere.

“If you want tea you’ll have to let go.”

“In a minute.”

“Edward.”

He makes a faint noise in protest, draping one of his legs over Jonathan. “Just give me a minute,” he whines. “I’m a sleepy bitch.”

Jonathan can’t help but laugh a little at that.

They lay there for a little while without speaking. He allows Edward to nestle against him. Feels his steady breathing against his chest. He continues to run his fingers up and down Edward’s spine.

He could never get tired of this.

After a few minutes Edward pulls away, reaching up to tap Jonathan’s cheeks with his fingertips. “Tea, please.”

“Of course.” Jonathan slides out of bed, going into the kitchen. He fills the teakettle with water, setting it on the stove to boil. He opens the cabinet. Surveys the different tea options.

Edward has about five different store-bought boxes of tea, along with several small mason jars full of herbs. Each is conveniently labeled with its ingredients and intended purpose. He takes one of the jars down—the label reads ‘mood stabilizing’ in Edward’s neat handwriting. It’s an option, but he wants to find something a little more… uplifting. He selects another jar. ‘Emotional healing and rejuvenation’. Perfect.

He packs the herbs into an infuser, placing it into a green mug. He adds a few spoonfuls of sugar into the bottom of the mug as the kettle begins to whistle.

“Wow,” Edward says, appearing in the doorway. “Kitchen witch goals.”

“I don’t think tea is exclusive to kitchen witches.”

He shrugs, dropping into a chair at the dining table. “Still.”

Jonathan pours steaming water into the mug, stirring it clockwise with a spoon. “I hope this tastes okay.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.”

He places the mug on the table, taking a seat across from Edward. “Let me know if you need to talk about anything, yeah?”

Edward nods, taking a sip of the tea. “It’s just… hard sometimes. Being a person.”

“I know.”

“But I’m glad you’re here.” He wraps his hands around the mug. “You’re so sweet when you want to be.”

“Only to you.”

“Yeah. Only to me.” He takes another sip, leaning back in his seat. “What time do you have to be at work?”

“Ten.”

“Will you stay for breakfast?” he asks softly.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not at all good at endings and I feel like this is anticlimactic but like. This is the last chapter.   
> This fic has been really fun to write and it's been really lovely to see that people have been enjoying it so much. As per usual, I've got some stuff in the works so you won't be rid of me yet lol.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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